


Battle Scars

by ClanlessSoro (13thSyndicate)



Series: FFXIV: Brotherhood [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Brotherhood, Gen, Heavensward Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:40:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21851590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13thSyndicate/pseuds/ClanlessSoro
Summary: "It's just a flesh wound, I'm fine!"E'stai gets hurt in battle, and he and Sorocan have to handle the consequences.
Relationships: Warrior of Light and Warrior of Light
Series: FFXIV: Brotherhood [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1574293
Kudos: 2





	Battle Scars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aesir23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aesir23/gifts).



It wasn't until the shock of watching Nidhogg fly away with Estinien's body began to fade, until the battle with the Archbishop's twisted, primal-empowered form was already decidedly over, that my mind caught up with its surroundings and I turned to check on E'stai. The whole battle had been a blur, my lance and E'stai's rapier and the sounds of combat drowned out by exploding spells even as the phantoms of the Echo provided their support, doubling and redoubling our efforts even as Hydaelyn's grace shone renewed within us... and yet, I remembered the blow he'd taken, and I mentally kicked myself even as I rushed to his side, angry at how I'd brushed aside concern for someone so close to me as to be kin.

His hair hung limply, crusted with blood, over one eye; even as I turned my attention to him, he fell to one knee, the rapier dropping from his limp fingers. I rushed over to him, myheart beating faster in my chest.

“Stai?!” I exclaimed. “Stai... are you...”

He waved me off with a flippant hand, but his normal tone of good cheer was labored and his voice betrayed strain as he responded. “I'm fine, really. Just... just a few bruises. It's fine!”

Blood dribbled down his cheek, and I felt my frown deepen. “Stai...”

“Really!” His tone had a note of panic, the same one he got when he was trying desperately not to worry me or anyone else concerned over his well-being. “It's just a flesh wound! It'll heal just fine, nothing even to bother a healer about. I'll just cast some white magic and it'll be good as new, go worry about yourself. B-besides, Ser Aymeric needs to know about what happened to Estinien, and, we have work to do....” He forced himself to his feet, but stumbled forward, his tail frantically waving in an attempt to restore balance. “Gods above, I'm tired, that fight was exhausting if I can't even stand straight, hahah....”

I reached out to steady him, and took the opportunity to push his hair back from across his eye... and gave a sharp intake of breath. “Stai....!”

A deep, ugly gash tore down one side of his face, open and raw. His eye was swollen, crusted with blood so thick that the long lashes I'd seen many a young lass fawn over could barely be seen. He shoved my hand away with vehemence, looking away from me to disguise the wound again, even as he clung to me for support.

“Hells,” he whispered. “Is it really that bad...?”

All fronts were gone now. His voice was small and scared. I knew how much he took his role as older brother seriously; showing weakness around me was one of his least favorite things. But he must have seen the fear and concern in my eyes, the paling of my face that I could feel as all the blood seemed to rush out of me at the sight of it.

“Don't worry, little bro,” he said, gathering his bravado again. “Ishgard has some of the best chirurgeons in the world...! I'll be fine. I'll be... I'll be fine...” Pain was starting to creep into his voice again, and as we took a few more steps, he staggered again. Wordlessly, ignoring all of his rapidly (and upsettingly) weakening protests, I scooped him up into my arms and carried him to where Midgardsormr awaited us.

“Take us back, dragonlord,” I begged.

* * *

I was numb through Aymeric's speech, honestly. I smiled for the people and stood with Midgardsormr looking proud, even as healers and chirurgeons summoned by Cid stole E'stai away. It didn't feel right, taking the Ishgardians' praise without him there to stand beside me, to do all the talking, to be bright and bold and cheerful for everyone. As soon as I could, I stole away after them, but it was a whole day before I was allowed to see him.

He had a patch over one eye and drifted in and out of consciousness. The blood loss and the healing magic and the chirurgeons' poultices and skills had taken their toll on him. They were worried about infection and gangrene and all sorts of other words that flew around me in a haze. It was more days before I could speak with him again.

* * *

“Soro!” He was smiling when I walked into the room, sitting up and smiling as though nothing bad had ever happened to him. “Soro, you great big wonderful idiot! Man I've missed you, I've had nobody to keep me company since I woke up except the nurses.” He shuddered. “So many _tall_ nurses...” His harrowed expression was a sham, playing it up for my benefit, and I felt a tension I'd started to pretend I didn't feel begin to ease in my chest and throat.

“What a tragedy,” I said with a smile, sitting down by his bedside.

“Why is Ishgard so full of tall people? Why does it have to be an Elezen nation?! At least Gridania is half populated by Miqo'te so at least _someone_ can look me in the eye without crouching,” he grumbled, a familiar argument that made my smile grow. He was definitely putting it on for my benefit.

“How are you?” I asked; my question was serious, and he sighed, his expression falling as he glanced out the window, reaching up to gently touch his eye.

“It was touch and go, the chirurgeon said,” he replied after a moment. “They managed to save the eye, which I should be grateful for – and am! – but even when they take the bandage off, I can't see much out of it. It's still not clear if I'll ever have full use of it again. Makes me glad I decided to make archery and bardiness my secondary career path for sure! Though Master Stephanivien is going to turn my tail into a fur coat if I have to quit my dabbling in machinistry.” He forced a smile, and his joking tone was fake. Most people might not be able to tell he was forcing it, but I could. I knew how well he'd taken to machinistry, how much he loved the workings of the engines, the feel of a firearm – and he was far from only a dabbler in it. _I_ dabbled; _he_ was an artist.

“I'm sure it'll come back,” I tried to comfort him. “You're too stubborn to lose an eye fighting a god.”

“Hey!” he exclaimed. “I'm not the stubborn one here! _Which_ one of us is the one always taking dirt naps and _which_ one of us had to go and learn white magic just to make sure he stopped having to lug _which_ one's sorry, oversized, scaly behind back to the aetheryte?”

I smiled.

* * *

“Great news!”

E'stai had been released from the chirurgeon's 24-hour care only a day ago, and already he was back to running everywhere at breakneck speeds and slamming open doors. I looked up from my journal and tilted my head, inviting him to tell.

“Soro, the healer said that my vision is coming back even faster than she'd hoped!” he said, running into the room and collapsing on the bed. “I might get to take this damned patch off soon!”

“That's great news,” I replied with a smile. “Just in time, too... I think Alphinaud's been restless, sitting around, waiting for news about our missing friends.” I felt a pang of heartsickness at the thought; at least Y'shtola was still with us, had still been found. “And Ser Aymeric's been wanting to meet with us, too, or so I heard. Something about growing unrest and disputes over the official story of what happened in Azys Lla...”

E'stai groaned. “Can't these Ishgardians sit back and relax for five minutes without having to get all antsy about something? They've been at war for a thousand years, you'd think they'd be grateful for a few weeks of peace.”

“Stai....”

“I'm serious!”

“Change takes time,” I said softly. He groaned.

“Well, I guess I'll just have to hurry up and get better. Can't have you run around kicking butts without me being in on the fun. I'm the oldest, after all, I have a _duty_ to uphold.”

I smiled down at my journal and went back to writing.

* * *

“Finally! Finally, I got permission to take this thrice-damned thing off my head!” E'stai exclaimed over our private linkpearl. “I'll see you back at the room as soon as the deed is done, and I swear, Soro, this healer is so glad to be rid of me and I seriously don't blame her!”  
  
It wasn't more than ten minutes later when he barged through the door of our inn room, unceremoniously dumping his pack onto his bed and then collapsing onto it. “The healer says I have one of the worst scars she's ever seen,” he said, arm covering his face so I couldn't see it. “And my ear itches like no tomorrow from where the band of the patch has been chafing for weeks. But I'm free. And I can see just fine, too, she said. If I cover my good eye, the other one's a bit blurry, but I have a normal 'field of vision' apparently and Master Stephanivien says I'm still just as good a shot as ever.”

“That's amazing!” I said. “So, uh. Are you going to show me your scar?”

He hesitated, and I felt my heart skip. “Is everything okay?” I asked, after a moment. “Normally you'd love the opportunity to show off a scar. Weren't you the one who said mine were 'badges of pride'?”

He frowned. I couldn't see his face, but his tail was flicking in nervous circles, and his ears were back.

“It's not...that,” he said after a moment. “It's just...” He sighed. “Well, you'll have to see eventually, I guess.”

He sat up, and looked straight at me, and I felt a lump in my throat form instantly.

The healer had been right – the scar _was_ nasty, traveling vertically from above his eyebrow to below his cheekbone in a straight line that told a story of how lucky, or how fast, he had been, to avoid Thordan's behemoth sword gouging the eye clean out of his skull – but it wasn't the scar that caused my breath to catch. E'stai's eyes had always been blue, of course, dark like the ocean, or so said the endless stream of admirers he'd been chasing away since he'd gotten old enough for girls to be interested in him; the eye that was crossed by the scar, however, was now a much paler, brighter hue, like a desert summer sky. He blinked, and I could see that the scar crossed his eyelid as well, and that the scarred lid was heavier and slower than the undamaged one, as well. He dropped his gaze.

“She said it's normal, when the eye's injured,” he told me. “Apparently it scars just like the skin around it, but if it's not bad enough that you can't see anymore, it just changes color.” He shrugged. “She told me she once saw someone whose eyes were brown have one change to bright blue, too. But it's one of the reasons she was so worried I was actually going to be blind in this eye forever. Luckily, I'm not, it just looks... weird. I was worried it'd worry you, I guess.”

He looks after me; he always has. Even when I was a child, even when I started to get bigger than he'd ever be. Even when we became Warriors of Light.

I put on a grin for his sake. “It looks... exotic,” I told him, then smirked cheekily, letting some teasing humor creep into my voice. “You'll have to be beating them off with sticks now, you know. 'Oh, Warrior of Light, you look so _rugged._ Come and be my _Nunh_ , you're too _handsome_ to be a Tia....'”

E'stai let out an anguished groan, made exaggerated gagging noises, and threw a pillow at me. I knew he was going to be okay.


End file.
